


trophy boys

by thunderylee



Category: NewS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, M/M, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Unreliable Narrator, an attempt at murder mystery, death and dismemberment, established koyashige, hsj kisumai and sexy zone as side characters, inspired by criminal minds and elementary, nasty disgusting creepy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Masuda doesn’t make it a point to become attracted to serial killers, but there’s a first time for everything.
Relationships: Kato Shigeaki/Koyama Keiichiro, Masuda Takahisa/Tegoshi Yuya
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9
Collections: Je-united Spring Exchange 2020





	trophy boys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [h_itoshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_itoshi/gifts).



> the timing sucks, but at least it's au.

Masuda barely has his keys in the door when he notices a package on the front step. Exhausted from another sixteen hour shift at the precinct, his bones creak far too much for his thirty-three years as he leans over to pick it up, lugging it into the apartment with his bag.

His roommate’s at the dining table, scrolling through meticulously formatted Word documents with his glasses on the tip of his nose, smooth R&B bumping through the laptop speakers. Grading music. “Welcome home.”

“I’m home,” Masuda returns the greeting, taking in the scene as he shrugs off his trench coat. “Have you been here this whole time?”

“My room is too relaxing to focus,” Kato whines. “Were you expecting company? I can finish up at the office.”

“No, I mean...” Masuda trails off as he places the package on the table. There’s no return address and no postage. “I don’t suppose anyone knocked on the door.”

“If they did, I’d have sent them away.” The papers happily abandoned, Kato leans over to peer at the plain cardboard box. “That looks like something a serial killer would use to send you body parts.”

“You’ve been watching too many crime dramas,” Masuda tells him, and Kato just shrugs. A lawyer turned professor, Kato Shigeaki had always resented the lack of excitement in mundane criminal cases. He moonlights as a mystery author, writing murder and mayhem with such flourish that he’s been approached more than once to make a drama series out of his work.

Meanwhile, Masuda Takahisa is grateful for the mundane. In his twelve years on the force, six as a detective, he’s seen so many murder scenes that it doesn’t faze him anymore. Tokyo’s crime rate stays fairly low, but every now and then someone will snap. It’s inevitable in such a high-stress era. Lucky for Masuda, heat-of-passion attacks usually mean sloppy planning, which leads to quick DNA matches and arrests. Lather, rinse, repeat.

“Are you gonna open it?” Kato interrupts his ruminating, eyes locked on the package. “If it _is_ a body part, we should get it into the fridge before it smells.”

“Is that what your protagonist would do?” Masuda teases, offering the box a glare before disappearing down the hallway. “It can wait until I change.”

Kato’s protesting huff follows him, but it doesn’t hinder Masuda’s after-work winding down routine. First, he strips off his suit and tie, folding them neatly in the hamper for laundering, and then he takes a hot, relaxing bath. Today hadn’t been particularly grueling, just a regular long day. Too much paperwork. Masuda hates paperwork.

Once clean, he throws on a pair of sweats and picks out his suit and tie for tomorrow. The precinct’s getting pizza and subs catered in, probably shouldn’t go with the white shirt. Dark blue should suffice. The shoes that match haven’t been worn in quite a while, so he wipes down the insides and gives them a quick shine. It wouldn’t do for them to be scuffed.

Next on the agenda is dinner, despite the clock pushing ten P.M. He’d grabbed something at a conbini while out questioning potential witnesses earlier, but his stomach reminds him it’s been quite a while since then. Heating up a meat bun in the microwave solves this problem, but it also means returning to the kitchen where Kato’s still staring at the package like he can see through it by sheer will alone.

“If you don’t open it, I will,” Kato threatens him.

“It’s illegal to open someone else’s mail,” Masuda reminds him. “I could arrest you.”

“It was in the interest of your _safety_ ,” Kato says pointedly, using his courtroom voice. “Koyama would let me out, anyway.”

“Or he’d handcuff you himself.” Masuda instantly regrets his words when images he doesn’t want to see flash behind his eyes. It’s bad enough that his captain and his roommate are _very_ open about their casual relationship whenever he’s around. “Never mind.”

“We’re not into that,” Kato tells him, and Masuda frowns with the meat bun in his mouth. “If we were, he’d be the one in cuffs.”

Masuda lunges for the package just to make Kato shut up. It works, wooden chair legs scraping the linoleum floor as Kato jumps to his feet and hovers over the box. If it is a bomb, it’s going to explode in both of their faces.

“It’s probably something like a scarf, and you’re going to feel like an idiot,” Masuda mutters under his breath.

“Just _open it_ ,” Kato says with all the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning.

Masuda flips open his switchblade and carefully cuts the packaging tape. It’s not very heavy, but there’s something in there that shakes, and Masuda has to wade through wads of colorful tissue paper before he finds the object at the very bottom of the box.

It’s not a scarf.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kato says as Masuda uses the tissue paper to hold up a pale, slender hand, cleanly chopped off at the wrist. “Looks like someone has a crush on you.”

Masuda pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Now he has to go back to _work_.

“Prints came back belonging to a Yamada Ryosuke, age twenty-seven,” Yabu reports at the morgue the next morning. “And he was already dead when they cut off his hand.”

“Do you know that person, senpai?” Arioka asks, turning toward Masuda with what looks like a sympathetic glance from the one eye Masuda has managed to pry open.

“Name doesn’t sound familiar,” Masuda answers, breathing in the steam rising off of his shitty police station coffee like the smell alone will wake him up. He peers at the picture on Yabu’s tablet and shakes his head. “He looks like a fucking idol.”

Usually, Masuda is a happy-go-lucky guy, but beware his wrath when he only gets a few hours of sleep. Koyama had kept him (and Kato) at the precinct until well after midnight, taking their statements and running theories while the mysterious limb got shipped off to the medical examiner. Additionally, Masuda had to give up his morning workout to come in early, so he’s extra cranky.

At least his shoes are shiny.

His partner of two years, Arioka Daiki, is used to his moods and just waves off his attitude. “Anything else you can tell us?” he asks Yabu brightly, like the ME will hand them the culprit on a silver platter if they just ask nicely enough.

“No skin cells under the fingernails, no legions or abrasions on the skin.” Yabu scrolls through the tablet with a yawn. “Doesn’t look like there was a struggle, but the perp could have just cleaned it really well before sending it to you.”

“To your _home_.” Arioka shudders. “This guy knows where you _live_.”

“Koyama assigned twenty-four hour detail to my building,” Masuda grumbles. “If there’s another package, it’ll get intercepted.”

“You think there’ll be another one?” Yabu asks curiously.

“I know there will,” Masuda answers. “It’s in the book.”

“We don’t know that they’re specifically copying it,” Arioka says gently. “I think Kato-sensei’s a little too quick to attribute the work of a real life murderer to one of his novels. He’s hardly the first person to think of gifting someone body parts as tokens of affection.”

“It’s all we have to go off of right now,” Masuda says. “It’s a weak lead, but it’s still a lead.”

“What book is it?” Yabu asks, looking mildly curious.

“It’s called _Trophy Boys_ ,” Arioka explains with an eyeroll. “Sounds like a BL porn, I know.”

“From what I’ve heard, it pretty much is,” Masuda says. “He got a lot of criticism for it when it was published, but he claims it wasn’t any trashier than the hetero books. ‘Murderers can be gay too’, he kept preaching to me.”

“Did the killer send his dick in a box or something?” Yabu asks, cringing a bit.

“Not exactly,” Arioka answers. “According to Kato, the body parts sent were eyeball, finger, tongue, and heart, in that order. _This_ killer started with a hand, so it could be a coincidence, or at the very least inspiration.”

“There is still reason to believe they will keep going,” Masuda adds pointedly to Yabu. “Any information you can give us may help us catch them before they can do it again.”

“Get me something to actually autopsy then,” Yabu replies, just as pointedly.

The two detectives slump dejectedly back to the station. Koyama’s waiting for them, face falling when he sees their expressions.

“Nothing?” he guesses, and Masuda grunts. “Forensics says the packaging was all clean too. Perp must have taken care not to leave any prints or hair.”

Arioka loads a report on his own tablet. “Handwriting analysis shows signs of psychopathy—” (“Obviously,” hisses Masuda) “—and other defining characteristics, but it doesn’t match anything in our database. This guy’s a fucking ghost.”

Masuda squeezes his eyes shut to rid them of the note they’d found buried under all of the tissue paper late last night. He’d been too preoccupied with the _contents_ to look for anything else, not to mention it was crumpled up like it had meant to be thrown away. Masuda wishes it had been.

 _If only I could touch you again_.

That had _not_ been in the book.

Most of his interrogation had been recounting past lovers, despite the list being rather short. Koyama had sent officers to question them all first thing this morning, and every single one has an airtight alibi for yesterday. They also said they had no idea why anyone would want to target Masuda. He’s a peach.

If Kitayama calls him “Momo” one more time, Masuda’s going to find a way to give the perp _his_ address.

Koyama saves him from his thoughts by begging him away from Arioka and ushering him into his office, where he closes the blinds and locks the door like he does when Kato brings him lunch.

“Listen,” Koyama says gently. He has a funny way of being stern without sounding it, which Masuda supposes is why he’s the captain. “Nobody will blame you if you want to sit this one out. You’re clearly in danger here. However, you’re also our only chance of luring this person out of hiding. They want something from you, so if you insist on being a part of this investigation, you may have to be the one to dangle a carrot.”

Masuda thinks the more accurate analogy is that he _is_ the carrot, but all he does is nod. “I’m much safer here with trained officers and my gun than I am at home with your murder-happy boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Koyama rushes to dismiss, looking sad for the fraction of a second it takes him to return to business. “I’ll set up a press conference for later this afternoon. I want you to be there so the perp can see you on TV. Hopefully, we can end this before anyone else gets hurt.”

That’s incredibly optimistic, but that’s Captain Koyama Keiichiro for you. “Got it,” Masuda replies dutifully.

Someone knocks on the door, and Koyama jumps to let them in. It’s Kitayama, looking much less amused than when he was teasing Masuda with a donut in his mouth an hour ago.

“Tell me you found Yamada’s body,” Koyama greets him.

“Close,” Kitayama replies. “Miyata and Tamamori went to question Yamada’s closest friends and found a body at the residence of Chinen Yuri. He was missing an ear.”

 _If only I could hear your voice again_.

“Captain, let me give the press conference,” Masuda says without thinking, and both Koyama and Kitayama turn to him in varying arrays of disbelief. “I have a carrot to dangle.”

Kitayama makes a face at whatever he thinks that means, but Koyama just nods and says, “For now, go with Arioka to Chinen’s. We have a body this time.”

If Masuda had thought Chinen Yuri was small, he was nothing compared to his _older_ sister Saya, who seemed to be more annoyed than saddened by the news of her brother’s sudden passing.

“I told him that someone was going to break in here one day,” she huffs, hands on hips as she glares past the caution tape. “He doesn’t listen. He never listens. Look where that got him.”

Masuda shudders in memory of his own older sister lecturing him and excuses himself from the conversation. Arioka can take her statement. Instead, Masuda wanders over to where the forensics team is gathering evidence from the body, which would look peacefully asleep if not for the marks on his neck.

“Strangulation,” he notes out loud. The officer kneeling next to him nods as she carefully scrapes bits of dried blood from the gaping hole in the side of Chinen’s head into a container. “He really is a psychopath. Or she, I guess. A woman could probably overpower someone so small.”

The officer glares at him and Masuda shuts his mouth before she decides to prove him right. He returns his attention to Chinen Yuri’s pretty face and tries to find some recognition in his memory—someone from his youth, maybe? Chinen was a good seven years younger than Masuda; how would their paths have even crossed?

“I found something!” another officer reports from the balcony in an unnecessarily loud voice that could only belong to Nikaido. Two seconds later, he’s flailing into the apartment with a potted plant in his hands, the dirt moved aside enough to uncover something buried beneath it.

It’s an ear, much fresher and bloodier than the hand from last night.

“There’s a note, too,” Nikaido adds, looking uneasily at Masuda.

“Don’t read it out loud,” Masuda quickly calls out. “I already know what it says.”

Nikaido’s partner, Senga, snatches the note and does a bad job of covering his laughs. “Look whom it’s addressed to.”

Masuda slowly takes the wrinkled paper with one hand. “Detective _Massu_.”

_If only I could hear your voice again._

“Nobody calls me that,” Masuda grumbles while the officers snicker.

He sighs. It’s better than Momo.

“This has to be a crime of opportunity,” Masuda reports when he gets back to the station, he and Arioka going straight to Koyama’s office to give him an update. “I don’t know the people who are being dismembered. They’re just random bodies to get to _me_.”

“Have you prepared your statement for the press conference?” Koyama asks. “It’s in fifteen minutes. I threw something together in case you didn’t make it back in time.”

“I’m good,” Masuda replies as he tears into a sub. He’s going to have onion breath, but maybe that will keep people from getting into his face. “I’ll be ready.”

Reporters and cameras faze Masuda about as much as dead bodies do, though it’s annoying when the flashes keep going off. Despite the distractions, he briefs the press on the current situation and that they’re still looking for Yamada Ryosuke’s body, cautions for everyone—particularly men in their late twenties who are small in stature—to be safe, and looks directly into the closest camera.

“To the person who’s doing this, it’s clear you want my attention.” Masuda pauses to catch his breath, his heart beating madly at the very real possibility that this _killer_ is watching him right now. What Masuda says next may very well save someone’s life. “You have it. I want yours too. Stop playing around with other guys and talk to _me_. Come down to the station. I won’t let anyone hurt you if you don’t hurt anyone else. If only I could see your face again.”

He begs off questions, ducking through the throng of officers to return to the precinct while Koyama takes over the podium. Kitayama and his partner Fujigaya are waiting for him with incredulous looks on their faces, and Masuda braces himself for the inevitable teasing for his choice of words.

“You’re a fucking _genius_ ,” Fujigaya swoons, surprising Masuda so much that he almost spills his coffee refill. “Make her think you care about her, so she’ll play right into your hands.”

“You think it’s a woman?” Masuda asks, bewildered.

“It has to be, right?” Fujigaya answers. “Only women would get this obsessive about someone. You must put it down real good, senpai.”

He waggles his eyebrows while Masuda frowns. “You already questioned my past lovers and none of them are suspects. I heard they all had alibis for this morning too.”

“Okay, but random hookups?” Kitayama jumps in. “Drunken flings? _Prostitutes_?”

“I’m not that kind of person!” Masuda exclaims, narrowing his eyes at the younger officers. “Besides, I think it’s a man.”

“But your past lovers were all women...” Kitayama trails off, then gasps. “Are you a closet bi?”

“Everyone’s a closet bi,” Fujigaya says with an eyeroll.

Masuda sighs. “I don’t know who it is or what he wants from me, but he’s all over the place. A woman would be much more methodological and sentimental. This guy is just fucking with me. Someone I snubbed once at a restaurant, or something. That could be anyone. I’m kind of a jerk when people annoy me.”

“ _No_ ,” Kitayama says sarcastically.

“You don’t say,” Fujigaya adds with forced wide eyes.

“At any rate, there’s no connection between the victims other than that they were friends,” Masuda thinks out loud. “He _wanted_ us to find the second body...part. He has a plan for the third too, and the fourth, however many there will be. Unless he walks through that door, all we can do is wait for him to slip up.”

The three of them turn toward the front door like the perp was really going to be standing there waiting for them. Instead, the security guard notices them looking and offers an awkward wave. Masuda quickly looks away; that Yaotome will chew your ear off if you give him so much as a breath.

“That’s how I know it’s not someone I already know,” Masuda goes on. “They all know better than to make me wait. I fucking _hate_ waiting.”

He turns on his heel back to the conference room that has been taken over by their investigation, walking right past Arioka toward the blank piece of paper with a question mark in the middle of their crime board.

“ _Who are you_?” he hisses.

As expected, nobody answers.

The next morning, Yamada’s body turns up in a nearby river, hastily dumped with no traces of DNA. Masuda doesn’t bother to visit Yabu again, the slideshow of stab wounds sent to his phone more than enough to determine the cause of death.

“They’re not even consistent,” Masuda greets Arioka when the latter arrives at his usual time. He hands Masuda a Starbucks iced coffee, and Masuda gives him the most grateful look he can muster right now. “This guy is really a piece of work.”

“Last night was peaceful, at least,” Arioka says, taking a stance in front of the crime board that now displays Yamada’s autopsy pictures in all of their grotesque glory. “No strange packages or dead bodies.”

“It’s a new day,” Masuda says, his tone coming out more satire than optimistic, and Arioka offers a short laugh. “I was up all night trying to find _something_ to bring to Koyama this morning, and nothing. I may as well have slept.”

“That’s what I did.” Arioka gives the board one last longing stare before turning toward the door. “Nothing to do but face the music.”

Masuda stops at his own desk and freezes at the nondescript package that had definitely not been there earlier this morning.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” he growls to the entire office. “Who left this here?”

“What?” Arioka says curiously, then his face falls when he sees what Masuda is looking at. “Is that what I think it is?”

“If it’s someone’s idea of a joke, I hope they enjoy suspension,” Masuda says as he carefully reaches for his desk phone. “I bet it was that brat Nikaido.”

Protocol dictates that all suspicious packages have to be cleared by the bomb squad before they can be opened, so pandemonium erupts while the entire building is evacuated for the team to run their tests. Masuda takes the opportunity to grab breakfast at the cafe across the street, where he sees Nikaido and Senga at the counter.

“It wasn’t me!” Nikaido protests before Masuda can even approach him. “I know that seems like something I would do, but I haven’t even been at the precinct yet today! Kenpi and I were stationed in front of your house until just an hour ago.”

“Does your roommate ever leave?” Senga asks incredulously.

“Sometimes, he has class,” Masuda answers, calming down at the terrified look on Nikaido’s face. “Assuming it’s not a joke, how would it get all the way to my desk without someone noticing?”

“People are in and out all the time, and they bring bags with them,” Senga answers. “They have to go through metal detectors, but your gifts don’t exactly set those off.”

Masuda squeezes his eyes shut at “gifts.”

Before he can respond, Koyama rushes into the cafe and meets his eyes. One look tells Masuda all he needs to know, and he abandons the two officers to follow Koyama across the street to where the station is only letting certain people inside.

He notices Yaotome getting questioned by the commissioner, the usually upbeat security guard cowering from the intimidating older woman. Masuda’s only seen her when someone’s in trouble; Koyama’s scared to death of her, and she’s his boss.

“I’ve got Kitayama and Fujigaya looking through the security footage,” Koyama tells him. “But I wanted you to be here when we open the package.”

“Thanks,” Masuda grimaces, and Koyama gives him a sad look as he’s once again ushered into the captain’s office.

The box sits in the middle of the table across from Koyama’s desk, all other papers and trinkets placed aside. Another officer strapped in protective gear stands next to the table, looking to Koyama for orders. Koyama nods, and the officer opens the box.

It’s an eyeglasses case.

“Did you...order glasses?” Koyama asks slowly.

“I don’t need them,” Masuda answers. “My vision is perfect.”

The officer, whose nameplate reads Yokoo Wataru, carefully retrieves the case from the box and flips the clasp to open it. Thick, crimson liquid immediately pours over the edge; Yokoo rushes to hold it over the box as to not stain Koyama’s table, and the three of them stare at the pair of whole eyeballs bobbing in their blood, cushioned by velvet.

“Oh, my god,” Koyama gets out. “They took this one alive. They’ve escalated.”

“This doesn’t make sense!” Masuda exclaims, frowning at the note Yokoo holds out for him. This time it’s folded neatly, though the writing is just as messy. “He already saw me! I gave him exactly what he wanted!”

_If only I could see you again._

“May I be dismissed?” Yokoo asks, and Masuda notices he appears a little squeamish. “My specialty is disarming bombs, not examining bloody body parts.”

“Yes, thank you, Officer,” Koyama says dismissively, and Yokoo looks at a loss of what to do with the case of eyeballs. Koyama points to the box, and Yokoo takes care to return it to where it came from without sloshing out anymore of the blood.

Then he high-tails it out of the office, leaving Koyama and Masuda alone.

“We need to find this person,” Koyama tells him, pleading like he’s the family member of the deceased instead of the captain who’s going to get his ass handed to him by the commissioner if this goes on much longer. “We need to figure out what they want.”

“He wants _me_!” Masuda practically screams. Koyama’s door is open, but he doesn’t care. “I offered myself to him on live TV! I told him what he wanted to hear!”

“Clearly, you did not.” Koyama stares Masuda down until Masuda takes a step back and bows his head in apology. “We’ll get these down to forensics, see if there’s a match in the system. This is your last chance to excuse yourself from this case before I hand off the rest of your work and put you and Arioka on it full time. Finding this person has now become our number one priority.”

“I’m here until the end,” Masuda says promptly, realizing too late how ill his choice of words are. “The end of the case, not the end of me,” he clarifies.

Koyama sighs. “The latter is what I’m afraid of.”

“I’ve got something!” Kitayama calls out from the main office, and both Koyama and Masuda scramble to hover over him.

Arioka’s already there. “Is that the perp?”

“In the flesh,” Kitayama replies, looking rather pleased with himself as he skips back a few seconds on his video to show a _uniformed officer_ sauntering over to Masuda’s desk to deposit the package.

“I got her coming in,” Fujigaya adds, and they all look to his monitor to watch the same person follow the screening process and sign in at the front desk. They’re wearing a standard-issue police cap, but the hair that sticks out underneath is bright pink.

“I’m gonna have to fire Yaotome,” Koyama says sadly. “She walked right past him.”

“That’s not a woman,” Kitayama points out.

“What are you talking about?” Fujigaya argues back. “Of course it is.”

“No, look at the junk.” Kitayama enhances the lower half of the suspect’s body. “The uniform doesn’t fit him at all. Probably lifted it from a thrift shop or something.”

“It’s entirely too easy to manufacture our uniforms,” Arioka chimes in as he tilts his head to scrutinize a different kind of package. “If someone didn’t know where to look, they would think it’s real.”

Koyama huffs and walks away, pulling out his cell phone to make a call. Probably Yaotome’s agency. Masuda feels mildly sorry for the guy, but he did allow a serial killer to walk right into the precinct. Maybe he’d be better at guarding something less dangerous.

“Can you zoom out already?” Masuda demands, interrupting the continuing bickering about his not-so-secret admirer’s sex. “It doesn’t matter what’s in their pants, okay? They killed two people, if not three. Focus on finding a face shot, for fuck’s sake.”

“Okay, okay,” Kitayama says while Fujigaya grumbles under his breath about Masuda not being their goddamn boss. “He practically poses for the camera before he leaves.”

Masuda’s heartbeat speeds up as Kitayama enhances the image. He’s still not entirely sure it’s a man, but whoever it is is _grinning_ right into the camera at the exit. That’s purely for Masuda.

_Here I am, come and get me._

“Do you know him?” Arioka asks. Either he’d joined Kitayama’s side, or it was just easier to assume the suspect is male.

“I don’t think so?” Masuda replies, leaning forward for a better look. “They have very distinct features. I would recognize them if I had seen them before.”

“She’s fucking gorgeous,” Fujigaya blurts out, and Kitayama smacks him in the arm. “What? Psychopathic murderers can be hot too.”

Masuda frowns as he tears his eyes away from the image. He’d already emblazoned it onto the backs of his eyelids. “Crop that shot and send it to every precinct and news station in the metropolitan area. Whoever they are, they can’t hide for long.”

A shriek from out back earns everyone’s attention. Masuda recognizes it as Tamamori, who was on trash duty today if the chart on the break room refrigerator was up to date, and Miyata flies across the room before Masuda can so much as turn around.

“There’s a body in the dumpster,” Miyata reports when Masuda reaches the pair of them, Tamamori covering his nose at the stench of death. “The eyes were gauged out.”

“It’s not...” Masuda starts, leaving the rest unsaid. _One of ours?_

“I didn’t get a good look,” Miyata says apologetically. “I don’t think Tama-chan did either.”

“ _So_ gross,” Tamamori mutters, burrowing his head into Miyata’s shoulder.

Koyama joins them outside with his phone still in his hand. “I think I know where that person got the uniform. Kikuchi said that Nakajima—Kento, not Yuto—didn’t report for their post this morning. Figured he’d slept in, but when he stopped by Nakajima’s place just now, the door was kicked in and the place was a mess. Obvious struggle. He questioned some of the neighbors, but none of them heard anything.”

He stops talking when he notices the other officers staring at him. Koyama stares back, shaking his head in confusion, and Tamamori lifts a single finger to point at the dumpster. Masuda watches Koyama peer over the ledge without so much as lifting his heels.

“Well, that answers that question,” Koyama says calmly. “Masuda, go home.”

“What?” Masuda replies. “What did I do?”

“Your little obsessive love game has now resulted in one of my officers dead,” Koyama tells him. “You’re off the case. Go home and don’t leave until you hear from me.”

Masuda’s mouth opens to argue, but then he sees the fear in Koyama’s eyes and knows that this decision is more about his safety than his punishment. “Got it. If there’s any way I can be of service, please contact me.”

“Miyatama, escort him,” Koyama tells the two who are still clutching onto each other. “Arioka, you’ll now be working directly with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Arioka says, then gives Masuda a hopeful smile before heading back inside. “Stay safe, senpai.”

On his way out of the building, he flips through the sign-in book at the front desk. There are only several names listed for this morning, but one of them matches the handwriting on the letters exactly.

“The other officers already came by to look at that,” the clerk—Sato Shori, his nameplate reads—informs Masuda. “They ran the name through the database and came up with nothing. But you probably already knew that, since it’s clearly a fake name.”

Masuda scoffs as he traces the inked kanji with his finger. _Masuda Yuya_.

The psychopath had even drawn a little heart after it.

Masuda thanks Sato and wishes him good day, then follows Miyata and Tamamori to their squad car.

“Yuya is a man’s name,” Miyata says conversationally while Tamamori huffs at the seat belt getting twisted in the passenger seat. “What are you going to do, senpai?”

“I’m going to let you all do your jobs,” Masuda says professionally. “I have faith that the captain and my partner can hunt this guy down and get justice for his three victims.”

Miyata seems to accept that until he pulls up in front of Masuda’s building. “This isn’t your fault, you know.”

“I know,” Masuda says, flashing a smile that has Miyata nervously smiling back before Tamamori lets him out of the backseat.

Another squad car is parked in front of the house, Takaki and Inoo offering little waves as Masuda disappears through the door.

Kato’s surprisingly not home, and Masuda is glad. He doesn’t want to relive the past few hours just yet. It’s bad enough he can’t get the sight of that _face_ out of his mind, that smug fucking grin that tells Masuda he’s exactly where this Yuya wants him.

That’s the face Masuda sees for the rest of the day, haunting him as he busies himself with cleaning. In the bathroom mirror, on the light fixtures, even in the toilet water, Masuda keeps seeing that face instead of his own reflecting back at him, grinning like he’s winning a game Masuda doesn’t know how to play.

By the end of the day, he can no longer deny his own obsession, because despite the death and dismemberment and cop killing, all Masuda sees is beauty.

The numbers on his phone’s clock swim together when Masuda’s roused from his sleep, but he’s pretty sure the first one is a two. It has to be Koyama, because no one else would dare call him this early. Something could happen to one of his parents and he wouldn’t find out until the sun rose.

“His surname is Tegoshi,” Koyama says before Masuda even finds his voice, and Masuda’s content to just listen without making the effort to speak. “He’s thirty-two, grew up in Yokohama, posts on social media about soccer and female pop idols. But get this—he was kicked out of medical school for ‘behaving inappropriately with a cadaver’.”

Masuda snorts as he rolls onto his belly. “That makes it sound like he fucked them.”

“Maybe he did.” He can almost see Koyama shrugging. “At any rate, it gives him the skill to dismember as delicately as he did. And it’s the only reason he’s in the system, since somehow he’s managed to stay out of trouble with as psychotic as he is.”

“He just hasn’t gotten caught yet,” Masuda points out. “I don’t suppose he happened to be at his last known place of residence, patiently awaiting arrest.”

“He hasn’t made it this far just to give himself up,” is Koyama’s dejected response. “There’s nothing we can do right now, but in the morning I’ll send teams to his past employers and his neighbors. For now, tell me if you’ve been to any of these places in the past couple months.”

Masuda wakes up a little as Koyama reads off a list of Tegoshi’s previous workplaces, but none of them stand out until Masuda recognizes an upscale restaurant that Kato had dragged him to awhile back.

“We had the _worst_ service,” Masuda recalls. “The server did everything short of spilling our food on us. It was so bad that the owner personally apologized and offered to refund our meals, but I wouldn’t let him. Our server was clearly new and doing his best despite the obvious lack of training, which I made sure to tell the owner before we left. Shige was so embarrassed, but he never made me go anywhere with him again.”

Koyama chuckles. “That doesn’t sound like you at all. You snap at my cops for stacking your paperwork unevenly.”

“That’s different,” Masuda insists. “Anyway, I don’t remember the server’s face that well, but he couldn’t have been Tegoshi. He doesn’t fit the profile at all. He was polite and humble and the exact _opposite_ of someone who would kill people and mail me their body parts.”

“You don’t know what goes on in anyone’s mind, Takahisa,” Koyama says gently. Masuda supposes that 2am allows for personal addresses. “Psychopathy usually stems from somewhere. Maybe he had a lack of support growing up and having a complete stranger stand up for him was enough to earn his affection.”

“Affection, yeah.” Masuda stretches and tries not to hiss in the phone. “I’ll ask Shige if he remembers when I see him tomorrow. Since I’m home all day, I’m bound to run into him at least once.”

“I miss him,” Koyama says suddenly, and Masuda cringes into his pillow. “It’s been a while since we—”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Masuda cuts him off, then swipes to end the call.

Goddammit, now he’s awake. Reluctantly, he throws off his covers and makes his way to the bathroom, noticing the open door across the hall that shows an empty bed.

“Shige? Are you awake?” Masuda calls out, keeping his voice down in case Kato had fallen asleep at his laptop or something.

There’s no answer, neither in his bedroom or in the dining area where his laptop is still set up. Masuda frowns at the scene, wondering where Kato would have gone off to in the middle of the night. He clearly isn’t with Koyama. Come to think of it, Masuda hasn’t seen him since yesterday. Or was it the day before? The days blur together when Masuda’s working a case. If Kato’s not at the dining room table when he gets home, Masuda could go an entire week without seeing him.

Tonight, however, is suspicious. Masuda throws on the closest pair of shoes and runs right out the door, barely remembering to grab his keys before racing across the street to the squad car.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Nikiado hisses at him; next to him, Senga is fast asleep. “Go back inside.”

“When was the last time you saw my roommate?” Masuda asks, clamping his hands down on the car door to keep Nikaido from rolling back up the window. “Each shift keeps the same log, right? Look through it and tell me when Shige’s name last appears.”

“Okay, fine.” Nikaido grabs the tablet resting in the console and brings up a spreadsheet. “On Tuesday, Kato left at seven A.M. and returned a little after three. Then he left again around nine P.M.”

Tuesday. When was Tuesday? “Nikaido-kun, what day is it today?” Masuda asks slowly.

Nikaido glances at the tablet like he hadn’t known either. “Friday, though technically it’s still Thursday night.”

“Did anyone log Shige coming back anytime between Tuesday night and now?” Masuda asks, struggling to remain calm.

After a few seconds of checking, Nikaido shakes his head. “Nothing. You want us to call it in? Forty-eight hours is long enough to file a missing person’s report.”

“I’ll call it in,” Masuda mutters, dreading another phone call with Koyama at this hour. “Your shift starts at midnight. Why didn’t you report yesterday morning when Shige never came home?”

“Honestly, we don’t look at these things,” Nikaido says exasperatedly, tossing the tablet back into the console. “We just pass important information along to the next shift, and Keito and Yuto didn’t tell us anything. Why haven’t you noticed that your roommate has been gone for over two days?”

 _Touché_ _._ Masuda slams his hands on the car door in frustration and strides back to his apartment, where he flips the locks and stares at his phone. This is _not_ a call he wants to make.

“Masuda?” Koyama answers sleepily. He must have passed out right after they hung up. “What happened?”

“Shige’s not here,” Masuda says, his voice wavering. “He hasn’t been here for two fucking days, and _your_ officers didn’t see it fit to tell anyone that until I made Nikaido go through the logs just now.”

“Shige?” Koyama repeats frantically, sounding like he’s trying very hard to wake up. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Masuda replies, pausing before adding, “I think Tegoshi has him.”

“...Shit.”

“I...I don’t know what to do,” Masuda confesses, the late hour and his rising emotions showing his vulnerability. “Do I wake up his parents? See if campus security will let me review the footage outside his office?”

“Did you call his phone?” Koyama asks, and Masuda hangs his head.

“No,” he admits. “I’ll do that right now.”

“Let me know either way.”

“Will do.”

Masuda hangs up and scrolls to Kato’s contact name. He presses the send button, not knowing what to expect. What if Kato had just taken off on one of his many trips? That’s not very likely for the middle of the school week, though. What if he had met someone new and was spending time with them? It would break Koyama’s heart, but it’s likely.

The call is picked up, and the words pour out of Masuda before Kato has a chance to speak.

“Thank God, Shige. We thought he’d gotten you. Sorry to bother you so late. I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Hi, Massu.”

Masuda’s blood chills. The voice is syrupy sweet and sing-songy, like a little kid when they’re teasing you. It’s a bit high-pitched for a man, and Masuda remembers where he’d heard a voice like this before—from the server at the restaurant Kato had taken him to months ago. The one he’d written off as too nice to chop people up.

“You,” he growls.

“Don’t bother trying to track Shige’s phone,” Tegoshi says lightly. “I turned off location services, and he’s not with me right now anyway. Why did it take you so long to look for him, Massu? I was about to give up on you.”

“What do you _want_?” Masuda asks, taking care to keep his voice calm. If Tegoshi’s holding Kato hostage, it’s in all of their best interests if he stays on Tegoshi’s good side. “You keep sending me these ominous notes, but you won’t tell me what you _want_.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tegoshi replies. “I want _you_. I thought I made that perfectly clear.”

“You did, but...” Masuda trails off as he thinks about how to go about this. Hostage negotiation isn’t his strong suit. “If I don’t know where you are, how can I be with you?”

“If I tell you where I am, you’ll tell your pretty captain, and then your pretty roommate will have to die.”

Tegoshi sounds sad about it, like he’s pouting into the phone, and it unnerves Masuda how easily he can imagine that.

“I won’t tell him,” Masuda insists. “It’ll just be you and me. Promise.”

“I don’t believe you~” Tegoshi sings, his voice getting louder with each word.

“If you can be quiet, I’ll prove it to you,” Masuda says, then redials Koyama on three-way so Tegoshi can hear the phone ringing. “Hey, Cap. Sorry to worry you but Shige is fine. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but he’s seeing someone else. That’s why he’s been gone so long.”

“Oh...” Koyama chokes a little, and Masuda’s flooded with guilt for lying to someone so sensitive. “If that’s what he wants, then...well, thanks for letting me know. Good night. I’ll let you know if we get any leads on Tegoshi’s whereabouts tomorr—later today.”

“Good night.” Masuda ends this call, then returns to the other one. “Satisfied?”

“You made that poor man cry,” Tegoshi tells him, using that pouty voice again. “I still don’t believe you, but I’ll give you a chance. I’m going to text you an address and then destroy this phone. If anyone other than you shows up, Shige is dead.”

“Understood,” Masuda says. “Please give me an hour to shower and make myself presentable for you.”

Tegoshi makes a humming noise that both terrifies and thrills Masuda to hear. “How considerate of you. I will do the same, then. See you.”

The line goes dead and Masuda stares at the blank screen of his phone, belatedly realizing his hand is shaking. He absolutely knows that he should call Koyama back and set up a trap, but he doesn’t want to put Kato at even more risk. There are way too many variables right now that could go the wrong way and put them _both_ in danger. The best course of action is to go meet Tegoshi and give him what he wants.

Masuda refuses to admit that’s what he wants too.

If he makes it out of this alive, Masuda’s going to have a talk with Koyama about how his officers handle detail. It was entirely too easy to get past Nikaido, feeding him some bullshit about going for a run since he was up anyway. Masuda’s not even that good of a liar, but Nikaido was too focused on his handheld video game to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

As Masuda approaches the address Tegoshi had given him, he wonders how this is going to play out. Worst case scenario, both he and Kato end up dead. Best case, no harm befalls either of them. Whether “harm” would be anything Masuda allows Tegoshi to do to him is subjective.

Masuda doesn’t make it a point to become attracted to serial killers, but there’s a first time for everything. It’s not that the gifted body parts are charming—it’s _Tegoshi_ himself. The timid, apologetic server from back then somehow became this obsessive psychopath and it’s almost...endearing? No, that’s not it. Masuda’s not great with describing feelings.

At any rate, the closer he gets to Tegoshi, the faster his heart races, and he hasn’t even broken a sweat. The house is only a few blocks away, close enough to keep tabs on both him and Kato, close enough to _drop off packages_. There’s a “For Sale” sign swinging in the yard and Masuda wonders if Tegoshi killed the realtor too, if that’s whose parts he’ll be sent next.

“You came,” Tegoshi says when he answers the door. The porch lights are out but his eyes still seem to sparkle, and that’s when Masuda knows that whatever happens between them tonight will be consensual.

Tegoshi Yuya may have killed three people, possibly more, one of whom was a fellow officer, but god _damn_ is he beautiful. Blame it on the late hour or the high tension, but Masuda’s hands are itching to touch him all over, see what he can make that sinful voice do.

“I said I would,” is all he says, keeping his distance as he waits for Tegoshi to invite him inside. He doesn’t want to spook him when he’s so close to the goal—whatever that actually is. “I’m a man of my word.”

Tegoshi stares at him for so long that Masuda blinks a few times in case time has stopped without him knowing. Finally, Tegoshi blinks back, and Masuda rests assured that the world is in fact still turning, even if he’s alone with a murderer. A very attractive one.

“Come in,” Tegoshi says, gesturing grandly like he actually lives here, and Masuda puts on a smile as he crosses the threshold.

It’s furnished for potential buyers, but only the bare minimum. Masuda’s not sure if it’s okay to sit on the couch, then figures Tegoshi wouldn’t know either and takes a seat. In an odd act of submission, Tegoshi follows suit and sits down in an armchair across from Masuda.

“Don’t you want to sit over here by me?” Masuda asks gently. His heart is beating in his skull.

“Aren’t you scared of me?” Tegoshi counter-asks. “I’m _dangerous_.”

“Yes, you are,” Masuda agrees, because it’s what Tegoshi wants to hear. “But I’m not scared of you. I’m...intrigued by you. What kind of person goes to such extremes just to impress someone?”

Tegoshi shrugs, almost modestly, but there’s nothing modest about this one. Masuda watches him carefully as he reacts, like he can figure out what’s going through Tegoshi’s head if he pays close enough attention.

It doesn’t work, so he relies on his detective instincts. He leans back and makes himself comfortable, like he could sit here all night without speaking, and that’s when Tegoshi opens his mouth.

“I had to do it like that. It was the only way.”

Masuda nods like that makes any sense, frowning when Tegoshi’s face twists up in a way that he can’t decipher. “I get it.”

That has Tegoshi falling still. “You do?”

“I do,” Masuda tells him. It’s not exactly a lie. “Which is why I’m here, so you can do all of those things to me instead of using other people as surrogates.”

“I...I...” Tegoshi trails off, twitching as he seems to be having an internal battle with himself, or whoever’s talking to him in his head. “No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.”

“How is it supposed to happen?” Masuda asks curiously. Fear pricks at the back of his neck, but he can count three exit routes without looking away from Tegoshi’s face. “Don’t you want me?”

“I do, but...” Tegoshi pouts, and it’s just as adorable as Masuda imagined from his voice over the phone. “It’s not in the plan. You were supposed to reject me.”

“I don’t want to reject you,” Masuda insists. “I want you to do all of those things to me with your own body instead of someone else’s. If you had just come to me in the first place, you could have avoided all of those messy body parts.”

Tegoshi sighs. “They were _so_ messy. I had to be careful not to leave DNA anywhere.”

“You did well,” Masuda says, noticing how Tegoshi beams at the praise. “We had no idea who you were until you walked into the station yester—this morning. Some of my colleagues even thought you were a woman.”

That gets a snort, though Tegoshi seems to look pleased about that too. “Are you disappointed that I’m not a woman?”

“Not especially,” Masuda answers. “I don’t really care about gender or sex as long as we have fun together. It’s just only been women who have approached me thus far in my life.”

“Such a simple mind,” Tegoshi comments, and it doesn’t sound as insulting as the other times Masuda has heard it. “I envy you. My mind doesn’t stop moving. Words and images and concepts, all flashing by super fast without stopping. I can’t keep up.”

Masuda nods to show he’s listening. He doesn’t have the first clue what Tegoshi’s going through, but he feels something like empathy that he usually doesn’t get with criminals. He supposes he doesn’t spend enough time with them to see what’s really going on in their heads, even if he doesn’t understand it at all. Or perhaps he just hadn’t wanted to get off with any of them.

“I can help you,” Masuda tries, taking the opportunity to get out of this without further tarnishing his morals. “You won’t go to jail if you’re declared insane. We can get you treatment so that you can get better and those thoughts will go away. I’ll come see you.”

Tegoshi gives a sharp bark of laughter, and Masuda inwardly kicks himself when Tegoshi’s eyes return sharp and predatory. “I don’t think they give you conjugal visits in the nut house, Massu.”

“Worth a shot,” Masuda says, shrugging it off while Tegoshi looks at him rather contemplatively. “Funny mentioning conjugation when you won’t even sit next to me.”

That gets a raised eyebrow, and then Tegoshi’s crossing the short distance to the couch, where he sits just close enough for their thighs to touch. He’s a lot less intimidating now that Masuda can’t see his face, though he can smell fruity body soap and a hint of cologne. He sees Tegoshi’s hands ball into fists above his knees and wonders whether he’s holding himself back from strangling Masuda or just nervous.

“You saw my face and heard my voice,” Masuda says. “Now, all you have to do is touch me.”

One of those hands lift to Masuda’s jaw, softer than he’d expect a murderer’s hands to be, and then he’s looking at Tegoshi’s eyes again. He doesn’t know what’s inside them, only that Tegoshi is almost trembling from the force of it, and Masuda is the one who leans forward to brush their lips together before he can get nervous by proxy.

Tegoshi gasps, but it seems to be exactly what he needed to let himself go and lean into Masuda. Very, very slowly, Masuda lifts his arm and brushes Tegoshi’s elbow as a test, sliding up to his shoulder when he doesn’t get any resistance. He pulls Tegoshi closer and Tegoshi moans softly against his lips, which goes straight between Masuda’s legs as he deepens their kiss without thinking and presses as close as he can while they’re both still sitting up.

“You really want me,” Tegoshi whispers, speaking the words between kisses like he can’t pull away long enough to speak. “This isn’t what was supposed to happen.”

“Do you want to stop?” Masuda asks gently, though he purposely drops one of his hands to Tegoshi’s thigh. It’s firmer than it looks and a rush of heat courses through him as he feels the developed muscles beneath his fingers. “I don’t want to force you.”

“You being the one saying that...”

Masuda’s laugh is real, earning a grin from Tegoshi as they return to each other’s mouths. Tegoshi’s hands are timid on Masuda’s torso, like he’s afraid to move them, and Masuda wonders who’s the one with the power here. Then Masuda trails his fingers further up Tegoshi’s thigh and Tegoshi’s hands come to life, grabbing onto the thin material of Masuda’s shirt before finding their way underneath.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tegoshi groans out, fingers splayed along Masuda’s abdomen while Masuda grazes the hard bulge between Tegoshi’s legs with his knuckles. “Of course you would have a six pack, you gorgeous, perfect human.”

“Sorry,” Masuda breathes, and Tegoshi’s laugh is laced with a moan as Masuda squeezes. “Is this okay?”

“God yes,” Tegoshi answers. “Can I touch yours too?”

There’s something undeniably sexy about being asked for consent in this situation. Considering Tegoshi was adamant about Masuda rejecting him, Masuda is confident that Kato’s life doesn’t rely on him saying yes. Nor his own. Right now, it’s just the two of them, together like this, and every cell in Masuda’s body wants to say yes.

“Yes,” he says.

Tegoshi lets out this filthy hum that has Masuda rushing to help open his own pants to get Tegoshi’s hand on him faster. The initial contact has him nearly jumping out of his skin, as nobody other than himself has touched his cock for quite a while now, but then Tegoshi curls his fingers around the shaft and strokes firmly enough for Masuda to return his tongue to Tegoshi’s mouth.

All he can really do is squeeze Tegoshi haphazardly, but Tegoshi doesn’t seem to mind from the way his breath hitches and he jerks Masuda faster. Masuda sincerely hopes he’s not about to come on this rental furniture, but Tegoshi’s kissing him too deeply to let it matter that much.

“So fucking hot,” Tegoshi says when he finally tears his mouth away, disappearing into Masuda’s neck while his other hand pushes up the shirt. “Wanna suck it.”

“You’re not gonna bite it off, are you?” Masuda asks seriously, and Tegoshi’s laugh shakes both of them. “Given your recent activity, it’s a valid question!”

“I would _never_ hurt you,” Tegoshi whispers, lowering himself down Masuda’s bare torso.

 _Just everyone else_ , Masuda thinks, but he smartly keeps that to himself as he lifts his hips enough for Tegoshi to shove down his pants and briefs. Instead, he watches Tegoshi kneel down in front of him, eyes locked on his as he darts out his tongue to lick a bead of precome at the tip.

It feels just as good as it looks, and Masuda doesn’t bother holding back how much he likes it. His breath becomes heavier as Tegoshi starts to take the length past his lips, cheeks puffing adorably as he starts to move back and forth. Excruciatingly slowly, but Masuda doesn’t mind the burn of need, bringing his hand to Tegoshi’s hair to push his fluffy pink bangs out of his eyes.

The look Tegoshi gives him is grateful, doting, and Masuda would probably wonder what that means if he wasn’t in the middle of getting the best blowjob of his life. The entire rest of the squad could bust in here and he wouldn’t stop, probably beg them to let him finish, everything else be damned.

“So good,” Masuda gets out, and Tegoshi moves faster. “Ah, Te— _Yu_ ya, just like that, I’m so close.”

It’s just as embarrassing to say these words as it was with his past lovers, which feels so ridiculously _normal_ that Masuda forgets for a few seconds how they got here. Maybe Tegoshi chased after him that night at the restaurant, maybe they met under different circumstances, maybe even in another life. It’s definitely not reality that crosses Masuda’s mind as Tegoshi brings him to the brink, though there is a brief flash of terror that Tegoshi’s going to _stop_.

He doesn’t, and Masuda comes so hard that he blacks out. When he comes to, it takes him a few seconds to remember where he is, though his eyes dart right for the curious face that’s staring at him when he can focus again.

“Give me a second, and I’ll return the favor,” he gets out, then his mind catches up with him and he realizes what his options are with another man. “Are you gonna have sex with me?”

“Do you want me to have sex with you?” Tegoshi asks plainly.

“I don’t know,” Masuda answers honestly. “I haven’t done it like that before.”

“Then we won’t,” Tegoshi decides, and Masuda breathes out a sigh of relief he hadn’t known he’d been holding in. “Another time. For now, you can just use your hand.”

“But it’ll get all over...” Masuda looks around and frowns.

“It’s fine,” Tegoshi assures him, and that’s all Masuda needs to hear to unfasten Tegoshi’s pants. “Mm, I won’t take long. Feeling you come in my mouth was so good, I almost finished on my own.”

Masuda opens his mouth to reply to that, then Tegoshi shifts into Masuda’s lap and leans back against him, arching when Masuda’s fingers wrap around his cock. At this angle, it’s a lot like touching himself, only the writhing weight on top of him and gradually increasing moans make it glaringly obvious that he is not alone.

Even upside-down, Tegoshi is beautiful like this, unabashedly thrusting up into Masuda’s hand to determine the rhythm himself. Masuda can’t decide whether to watch Tegoshi’s face or his cock, switching back and forth from the flushed cheeks and parted lips to where the equally as flushed flesh disappears into the tight funnel of his hand.

Masuda is hot all over despite being sated, arousal of a different kind flooding him as Tegoshi nearly chokes on his quickening breaths and spurts over Masuda’s fingers. Most of it gets on Tegoshi’s shirt, which he doesn’t seem to care about as he grins and looks up at Masuda. It’s the same grin he’d given the security camera at the station, which brings Masuda back to the current situation faster than he would have liked.

“Is Shige okay?” he asks gently. “I know you won’t tell me where he is, but can I talk to him?”

“I didn’t leave him with a phone,” Tegoshi answers, making no effort to move from where he’s stretched out face-up on top of Masuda, pants and boxers shoved down around those muscular thighs. “He’s fine, though. Annoying, actually. Keeps asking questions about my childhood and the inner workings of my mind.”

“He’ll probably write your memoir after this,” Masuda tells him, mildly amused at Kato interviewing his _captor_ for his next book (and out of morbid fascination). “You picked the absolute worst hostage.”

“Once I gave him a notebook and a pen, he left me alone,” Tegoshi says. “I’ll give him back to you when I’m done.”

“All of him?” Masuda presses. “His entire being, in tact?”

Tegoshi laughs. “There’s only one part left for me to give you.”

Masuda hopes he’s talking about his dick.

“Haven’t you read the book?” Tegoshi asks, then lights up when Masuda shakes his head. “Honestly? He’s your _roommate_ , Massu.”

“I’m not a big reader,” Masuda mutters. If Kato lives through this, he’s never going to shut up about an actual serial killer acting out his gay murder mystery novel. “You haven’t been sending the same parts as in the book anyway.”

Tegoshi hums again, this one a little condescending. “Well then, you’ll just be surprised, won’t you?”

A sense of creepiness seeps in for the first time tonight, and Masuda questions everything he thought to be real up until this point. “I should go. My detail will be looking for me if I don’t come back soon.”

Tegoshi stares at him for a second too long, then nods as he rolls off of Masuda and cleans himself up. “Thanks for coming. I knew when you told off my boss that night that you were the right person, and tonight proved that you are. I haven’t wasted my time.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Masuda can’t get out of there fast enough, but he lets Tegoshi walk him to the door like they’re on a fucking date or something. Then he looks at Tegoshi’s face—that sweet, angelic, psychopathic face—and, without thinking, kisses him goodbye.

“Please don’t hurt anyone else,” he says on his way out, one last effort to end this and go back to his mundane life of burglaries and disgruntled office workers.

“Goodbye, Massu,” Tegoshi calls after him, and the door closes behind him.

Now faced with the dark night, the wind blowing through the trees like it’s lecturing him for what he just did, Masuda feels strangely uplifted. Must have been the blowjob.

He’s halfway home when he’s pulled between a row of hedges and nearly twists off the arm that had suddenly wrapped around him, until he sees whom it’s attached to.

“Koyama?” Masuda gasps, clutching his chest from the adrenaline. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you find out where Shige is?” Koyama asks.

Masuda sighs. “I told you, he’s—”

“Takahisa, you have never once called me ‘Cap’,” Koyama cuts him off. “The minute you hung up with me, I called Nikaido and told him to let you go wherever you wanted and to tail you. We have eyes on Tegoshi and are ready to move in, we just need to know that Shige is safe.”

“He’s not,” Masuda says slowly, his tired brain still processing all of those words thrown at him so fast. “I didn’t find out where he was, or confirm that he’s even still alive.”

Even in the dark, he can see Koyama struggle not to look affected. “What did you talk about, then?”

Masuda shrugs. “Mostly Tegoshi talked. He’s got some kind of mental disorder. I feel bad for him.”

“You feel _bad_ for someone who killed one of our fellow cops?” Koyama growls.

“It’s a...compulsion, or something,” Masuda tries to explain. “I don’t think it’s his fault. He needs help.”

“They all need help,” Koyama says. “Look, you’re going to stay with me tonight. I don’t want you to be alone. Clearly, Tegoshi fucked with your head.”

Nice choice of words. “Is that an order?” Masuda asks.

“Yes,” Koyama replies. “The night is almost over anyway. I’ve got every cop on the force looking for Shige, and they’re under strict orders to contact me the moment he’s found.” He pauses. “Because he’s a _hostage_ , and no other reason.”

“Right,” Masuda assures him. “Let me grab some things from my place and we’ll go.”

Twenty minutes later, dawn is starting to break and Koyama’s making up his couch for Masuda. “You’ll understand if I take your phone.”

Masuda nods as he hands it over. “Am I going to stay here all day with no phone while you go to the station?”

“You're coming with me,” Koyama replies. “Plain clothes, you’ll stay in my office, and we’ll hook your phone up to the tracker in case he contacts you again.”

“Can’t wait,” Masuda deadpans, and Koyama gives him a blank look as he watches Masuda get settled on the couch. “Is there anything else?”

“Something happened,” Koyama says darkly. Masuda prides himself on not reacting. “Something you’re not telling me.”

“Go to sleep, _Captain_ ,” Masuda tells him. “We’re only gonna get a few hours as it is.”

Koyama looks like he wants to argue, then seems to think better of it and disappears down the hallway. A jingling sound follows him, his beloved pet cat joining him in slumber. Masuda and Kato used to have a dog, back when Kato was in law school and Masuda was fresh out of police training, but after a while they weren’t around enough to take care of it. Now that Kato’s pretty much home all the time, maybe they could try again.

He just has to come home.

Masuda doesn’t feel like he sleeps at all, but the next thing he knows the sun is much brighter and Koyama’s making a lot of noise in the kitchen. Reluctantly, Masuda hoists himself off of the couch and pries his eyes open enough to see where he’s going, offering a grunt of thanks when Koyama greets him with a cup of steaming expresso.

“Gonna need a whole thermos of that,” he gets out, his voice thick with sleep, and Koyama just offers his own grunt in return. His hair is sticking up in twenty different directions and Masuda would laugh if he could summon the energy.

It’s probably a good thing he’s not allowed to work today. As it is, he manages a quick shower and a change of clothes before they relocate to Koyama’s office.

“You know I have to interrogate you about last night,” Koyama says as he closes the door behind him and settles behind his desk.

Masuda looks around the otherwise empty office. “Is Arioka joining us?”

“I thought it would be best if it were just us, given the circumstances.”

Koyama’s face is soft and Masuda considers telling him the truth, what actually happened between him and Tegoshi along with his feelings about it. Granted, he definitely hasn’t had nearly enough sleep to be in any shape to sort out any feelings, so the easiest thing to do is recite their conversation word for word and leave out any incriminating physical interactions.

“He wanted you to reject him?” Koyama interrupts when Masuda gets to that part of the story. “Why?”

“It was part of ‘the plan’,” Masuda answers, as stumped as Koyama looks. “I figured it was in the book.”

“If only Shige were here...” Koyama trails off.

“You didn’t read it either?” Masuda exclaims, his voice barely lifted from his lack of energy. “You’re the worst boyfriend.”

“Not a boyfriend,” Koyama corrects. “It wasn’t one of Shige’s most popular books to begin with, so I’m surprised that _anyone_ has read it, let alone used it as guideline to commit serial murder.”

“Maybe someone should read it,” Masuda suggests. “There might be clues in it.”

“Already made Nikaido and Senga do it,” Koyama tells him. “They both said it had an open ending, where you don’t know who lives or dies, and the story was told from the perspective of the person receiving the gifts, so you never find out why the killer did it that way.”

“Sounds frustrating,” Masuda comments. “But very much like Shige.”

“So, we still have no idea what’s going to happen,” Koyama grumbles. “We have people looking for Shige based on geospatial data based on where Nisen _lost_ Tegoshi last night, but it’s a big city. Fujikita are asking around Tegoshi’s past workplaces, hoping to stumble upon some sort of clue. Anything to narrow the field of places he could be keeping Shige.”

Masuda nods. “He said he would return Shige to me when he was done with him.”

Koyama shudders. “I don’t like the way that sounds.”

“Me neither.”

Masuda makes it through the rest of the interrogation unscathed, and the day goes by excruciatingly slowly. More than once, Masuda thinks about asking if he can be permitted to do his paperwork just to make time pass faster, but he’s not that desperate. There are only so many games he can play on his phone; too many of them make him wait to proceed these days.

Koyama looks disappointed with each hour that passes and Tegoshi doesn’t call. They’d tried tracing Kato’s phone, but it seems Tegoshi had been telling the truth about destroying it. Kitayama and Fujigaya return with nothing but flattering stories about Tegoshi’s work ethic; he was nice and personable enough, but just not that good at following orders. They’d been given names of Tegoshi’s friends and the hangouts they would frequent, but call after call that came into Koyama’s desk phone reported no further leads. Everyone in Tegoshi’s life was genuinely astounded to hear that the fun-loving guy they adored was actually a psychopathic serial killer.

Except Tegoshi’s old instructor at Toudai. It has been over ten years, but the pathologist still remembers the student who had been fascinated with dead bodies far beyond an acceptable amount. Koyama conducts the interview on speakerphone with the door closed, so Masuda can hear every word while the pleasant-sounding old man goes on about Tegoshi’s abnormal behavior.

“He would just _admire_ the cadavers, make comments about it being a shame there was no use for them anymore, things like that. When I asked him about it, he told me he wanted to repurpose them into a new person, one that could do everything he couldn’t do himself, and I sent him to be evaluated by the university psychologist. But he passed all the sanity tests, and we figured he wasn’t a danger to anyone who was already living, so I just recommended him to be let go from the program. I thought the worst that would happen is that he would become a grave robber.”

Koyama hangs up the phone and rubs his eyes. “Not gonna lie, I’m a little disappointed he hadn’t actually been fucking corpses.”

Masuda snorts. “So, we know _why_ he did it, but that doesn’t bring us any closer to finding Shige.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Koyama sighs and looks at the clock. “I have to make arrangements for Nakajima’s funeral tomorrow morning. You’ll be allowed to attend in full uniform.”

“Thank you,” Masuda says.

“Nobody thinks it’s your fault,” Koyama goes on. “They know that you didn’t ask for this. Everything you’ve done, even lying to me last night, was for the sake of saving our Shige _and_ avenging Nakajima’s death. Right?”

“Right.”

Koyama smiles like he was the one who needed the reassurance, and maybe he was. Masuda feels a little guilty when he thinks about a fellow officer losing their life by the hand of a serial killer he was investigating, but only because he didn’t arrest them fast enough. Being the actual focus of the killer’s obsession has nothing to do with it.

Neither does making out with him.

“Can I go home?” Masuda asks suddenly, not bothering to stop himself from sounding like a whiny child. “If you won’t let me work, I’m going to sleep, so maybe I’ll actually be more alert if Tegoshi does contact me again.”

“Fine, good night,” Koyama agrees. He sounds just as irritated. “I bugged your phone, so don’t say anything you wouldn’t want me to hear.”

“Noted.” Masuda pockets the device and gets to his feet. “Good work today.”

Koyama mumbles the phrase back and Masuda lets himself out. Arioka pounces like he’d been positioned by Koyama’s door just waiting for it to open, but Masuda begs him off with empty promises to call after a nap.

He gets home just in time to see a commotion in front of his building, Tamamori shoving one of his neighbors up against the wall while Miyata scrutinizes the outside of another nondescript cardboard box.

“There he is!” the neighbor yells. “He’ll tell you! Masuda-kun, please tell these officers that I often get your deliveries and it’s okay to leave them at the door!”

“Wow, you _do_ really do actual police work,” Masuda comments as he tugs Tamamori’s arm away from his neighbor’s shoulder. “This whole time, I thought you just enjoyed stalking me.”

Miyata stifles a laugh, but Tamamori’s glare transfers to Masuda without change. He may be squeamish around blood, but he’s aggressive enough to make up for it. “He brought a _package_ to your door,” he practically growls.

“So, you question him and then you let him go,” Masuda says slowly, his patience for incompetence diminishing the longer he stays awake. “Sorry, Suzuki-san. We lost one of ours over this, so everyone’s on edge.”

Tamamori abruptly lets go of the middle-aged man and Suzuki straightens out his shirt. “No problem. Now, like I was _trying_ to tell your colleagues, I came home from work just now and the package was in front of my door. I get your mail a lot, on account of our apartment numbers are flip-flopped, and in the past you told me to just bring them over.”

“It’s fine, thank you,” Masuda tells him, then turns to Miyata. “We have security cameras at the exits. Contact the landlord and review the tapes. And give me the fucking box.”

Miyata’s so shocked by Masuda’s tone that he just complies. Masuda takes it and starts to open it right there in the hallway, much to Tamamori and Suzuki’s discomfort.

“Am I free to go?” Suzuki asks, slowly inching away from the three officers.

“After you give us your contact information,” Miyata answers smoothly, producing a notepad and a pen for Suzuki to scribble down his number. “We’ll call you if we have anymore questions. Sorry again for my partner’s abrasiveness.”

Tamamori huffs as he decidedly does not look at the open box in Masuda’s hands.

“Senpai?” Miyata asks slowly, taking one step at a time toward Masuda. “What is it?”

This time the note is on top, stained with the same blood that’s barely contained in the plastic wrap containing the newest body part.

_If only I could love you again._

Masuda knows his eyes are playing tricks on him, but he’d swear he saw the heart beating.

“Oh my god,” Miyata breathes, gently taking the box from Masuda’s hands when they begin shaking. “Whose it is?”

“Shige,” Masuda gets out, his vision falling blurry as his emotions get the best of him. He’s so fucking tired, he doesn’t even know if any of this is real.

“Kato?” Tamamori’s voice sounds from above Masuda’s head. Normally, Tamamori is noticeably taller than Masuda, but this time it’s because Masuda’s body is sinking to the ground.

His knees hit the carpet, his hands covering his face. He’s known Kato since he was twelve years old. They fucking grew up together after Kato’s family moved to Tokyo from Osaka and Masuda used to tease him for speaking Kansai-ben. They didn’t even like each other, but their mothers were friends and when Masuda was looking for a roommate after he finally moved out on his own, Kato was the natural choice. They’ve lived together ever since.

He was dreading having to call Kato’s parents. He could make Koyama do it, but Koyama will undoubtedly be a bigger mess than anyone. Why did Tegoshi go through with this? Didn’t Masuda give him what he wanted last night? He may have said he wanted Masuda to reject him, but didn’t that mean he _couldn’t_ go through with the rest of the plan?

“Yeah, his surname is Kato,” Masuda manages to say to Tamamori.

“No, Kato is _here_ ,” Miyata clarifies, pulling on Masuda’s shoulder until he gets back to his feet. Masuda squints, but the figure in the distance is indistinguishable and Masuda’s overloaded brain can’t seem to understand how Kato could be in the box and walking down the hallway at the same time.

“Since when do cut-out hearts make you cry, Taka?”

It _is_ Kato, the bastard, and all Masuda wants to do is punch him, so he does. Kato intercepts the fist and pulls him into a hug instead, Masuda easily adjusting to sobbing into Kato’s shoulder. He breathes in a scent that’s all too familiar as his feelings desperately try to resituate themselves, which only serves to fuck them up all over again.

“You smell like him,” he mutters, and Kato chuckles.

“He shared his shower products with me,” Kato tells him, patting him a few more times on the back before pulling away. Masuda’s not ready to stop holding onto him, but mostly because he’s even more exhausted from crying. “He wasn’t that great of a captor, to be honest. Not one bit of torture.”

“You sound disappointed,” Miyata comments, looking entirely too amused.

“I was taken _hostage_ for _three days_ by a _psychopathic serial killer_ ,” Kato emphasizes dramatically. “I expected it to be scarier. Mostly, he just left me in a room alone and evaded my questions.”

“Research for your next book?” Masuda asks knowingly.

“Who better to write a murder mystery than someone who experienced it!” Kato exclaims joyfully. “Too bad I already wrote this one. He even ended it the same way.”

All four of them look at the heart in the box, abandoned on the floor. “If it’s not yours, whose it is?” Masuda asks.

“I think it’s his,” Kato answers, and Masuda’s eyes snap up to meet his, suddenly wide awake. “He let me go this morning and told me not to let anyone see me until just now. I figured it was best to do what he said, so I went to a different library than usual.”

“You spent all day at the library?” Tamamori asks, making a pained face at the thought.

Kato starts to answer, his eyes lighting up in excitement, but Masuda cuts him off. “You’re telling me Tegoshi Yuya cut out his _own heart_ and sent it to me?”

“He had to have had help,” Miyata says. “Even if he removed it himself, he wouldn’t have lived long enough to package it so neatly, nor deliver it to your neighbor.”

“Yabu will be able to tell us if it’s his,” Tamamori adds, nose wrinkling as he pushes the box closer toward Miyata. “Kato-san, we’d really like it if you came back to station with us for some questioning.”

“Koyama will be thrilled to see you,” Masuda says without thinking, but neither of the other two officers bat an eyelash. The captain’s secret may not be so secret after all.

“Yeah, sure, but...” Kato turns to Masuda and fixes him with a knowing look. “How do you know what he smells like?”

“Use your imagination.” Masuda turns to unlock the door, ignoring the gapes from the other three. “I’m going to sleep. Don’t wake me up even if Koyama’s head ends up on my doorstep.”

Kato follows him inside and starts to pack up his laptop and various other items at the dining table. “I remembered him, you know,” he says quietly. “From that night.”

“So?” Masuda replies. Miyata and Tamamori are _right_ outside the door, not that he’s going to be making any deep confessions right now.

“The way he spoke of you, it was so...” Kato shakes his head as he struggles to find the right word. “Gentle? Fond? Honestly, it was so _wholesome_ that for a moment I forgot he actually killed people and cut off pieces of them for you. It was cute.”

“Cute,” Masuda scoffs.

“He makes it really easy to forget who he is,” Kato goes on, then scrambles for a piece of paper. “Gotta write that down, that’s a good line.”

Masuda rolls his eyes and closes himself in his bedroom, leaving Kato to his undoubtedly elated retelling of his hostage experience. His eyes shut before his head hits the pillow, but his accelerated heartbeat won’t let him pass out right away. He breathes deeply to calm down, reminding himself that Kato is safe now and there’s a good chance Tegoshi won’t be around to hurt anyone again.

He’s surprised how sad he is about it.

Groaning into his pillow, he struggles to find sleep. If this is what he gets for being nice to strangers, he’s never fucking doing it again.


End file.
